


The Dragon and The Daffodil

by littlegemini1993



Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Arthur is a sweetheart, Baby Arthur, Canonical Character Death, Child Loss, Child Neglect, Childbirth, Domestic Violence, F/M, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Lyle has issues, Lyle wasn't always an asshole, Mental Health Issues, Parent-Child Relationship, Pre-Canon, Young Arthur Morgan
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-10
Updated: 2019-10-22
Packaged: 2020-04-23 22:45:42
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,349
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19160515
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/littlegemini1993/pseuds/littlegemini1993
Summary: Every legend has it's origin.





	1. Absent

**Author's Note:**

> Howdy cowpokes!
> 
> This is a new fandom I'm writing in, as I've only ever written within the Supernatural universe, but I'm branching out. Also it's because I'm currently addicted to RDR2 and my love for Arthur Morgan is just as strong as my love for Dean Winchester.
> 
> This story idea has been brewing in my head for a while during my long night shifts of cleaning up after people, and it's time I write it down. It's acting as a stress reliever. Like Arthur, I know how it feels to be a work horse.
> 
> I'll try to update as often as I can. Feel free to comment. 
> 
> WARNING: this first chapter references child loss.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A heavily pregnant Beatrice contemplates her new life in America.

Early Summer, 1863

Beatrice was spring cleaning. Thick dust billowed upwards into her nose, as she swept the wooden floor with her trusty broom. A sudden sneeze broke her current stride, before she carried on with her chore. She paused for a moment to survey her home. The cabin was tiny and just as dilapidated as the day they arrived several years earlier.  
The previous winter had been extremely harsh on the ramshackle homestead, causing Beatrice to barricade the windows against the bitter wind and freezing snow with old boards she had salvaged from the barn. Keeping warm was a main priority during those cold months. It was a blessing when the thaw finally arrived, shepherding in spring. The cabin and Beatrice had survived into a new year, with minimal damage. 

With a slight nudge of her hip, the cabin door creaked open, allowing Beatrice to brush the dirt and dust outside. She rested again, wiping her brow with the back of her hand and flicking away loose strands of hair from her glistening forehead. The broom was set aside momentarily, so she could massage the small of her back with her hands.  
Beatrice had to make the most out of what she had been given. She took pleasure out of the simple things, like the little pink flowers that grew down by the nearby stream. Rural poverty was nothing new to her, only it was something she dreamed of leaving behind when she made the long voyage to America.  
She would repeat the same proverb every day. The same proverb her beloved mother taught her.

“Cartref yw cartref, er tloted y bo” smiled Beatrice, glancing back into her home. “Home is home, however poor it may be.”

The broom was set aside, as Beatrice gathered kindling for the stove. Coffee usually brewed in the decanter by the stove, but recently the smell off the dark granules made Beatrice’s stomach churn. The general store in town thankfully had a healthy supply of tea, for which Beatrice was grateful for as it reminded her of home. A knock on the door broke her concentration. The sounds of clucking and a sharp shriek brought a smile to Beatrice’s worn out face. It was still morning, and she was already exhausted.

“Mildred, you don’t need to knock,” answered Beatrice, as she emptied a jug of water into a cast iron pot. She was planning on making cawl. “Come inside, only don’t bring the chickens in with you.”

The door opened, and Mildred bustled in, shooing the flustered chickens away with the bottom of her skirts, while holding onto a basket of eggs. Beatrice watched the spectacle with a grin on her face. Mildred Price was a small woman in her late thirties, her accent still heavy as the day she got off the boat. The two women were cousins through their fathers. It was from the letters she sent from America back to Wales, that Beatrice began to dream about a better life. When Mildred invited her to America, Beatrice leapt at the golden opportunity. 

“Bloody nuisance,” grumbled Mildred. “I never did like chickens.”

Beatrice laughed, as she returned her attention on chopping the small bunch of vegetables on the table in front of her, or at least trying to. The basket of eggs was then promptly placed on the table-top and the small knife she was using to prepare the vegetables, was swiped from her hand. Beatrice opened her mouth to protest, only to be met with the firm stare of her older cousin.

“You need to slow down, love” Mildred remarked, her eyes falling upon Beatrice’s large swollen stomach.

Mildred pulled a chair out, and commanded Beatrice to sit down. Beatrice breathed a sigh of relief, as the comfort eased her aching back and feet. 

“Where’s Lyle?” asked Mildred, her expression full of concern and annoyance.

Beatrice’s hands cradled her stomach, her heart burning with love for her unborn child and hurt for her absent husband.

“I’ve not seen him since yesterday morning,” she replied, her eyes filling with tears. “He took Meg and went into town somewhere, at least I think that’s where he went. I cannot do this all on my own. The only money he brings home is the dishonest kind.”

Mildred had a pensive look in her eyes, as she soothed her heavily pregnant cousin. Beatrice tried to maintain composure, but ultimately dissolved into tears.

“Oh love,” consoled Mildred, as she ran a comforting hand up her distressed cousin’s quivering back. “You have to be strong now. All this worry and upset is not good for you or the baby.”

Beatrice brought a trembling hand to her stomach, as she felt her unborn child move around from the shelter of the womb. Her baby might as well stay inside her forevermore, as it would be the safest place for it. She had already lost three children. Her first born, Thomas was born on the wagon train to Oregon, and lived all but four days. Enid lived fifteen months before fever took her from her mother’s arms. Another grave joined Enid under the tree, close to the cabin. Gareth was buried there in January. Mildred and Beatrice tried to nurse the four-year-old back to health, but his small lungs couldn’t cope with the infection that finally claimed him.

“I’ll send Henry into town to look for that wretched husband of yours,” voiced Mildred, giving Beatrice a reassuring glance. “Until then, I’m not leaving your side.”

Beatrice gave her cousin a watery smile. She grimaced in discomfort, as she shifted in her chair. As if sensing something, Mildred took it upon herself to enforced strict bedrest upon Beatrice. For her own comfort, Beatrice stripped herself down to her nightgown, freeing herself from the constraints of her frumpy maternity dress and skirts. It was only when she settled into her bed, that she could rest for the first time in a long time.

However, that peace was shattered once Lyle returned home that evening.


	2. Euphoria

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lyle's behaviour is becoming a challenge once again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: references to mental health and implied attempted assault.

Alcohol was the devil’s brew. It made men mad. In Lyle Morgan’s case, it aggravated the already present madness that resided within him. Mildred was very reluctant in leaving her cousin alone with her inebriated spouse. After sending Mildred back home, Henry dragged Lyle to the corner of the room, and practically threw him down on the floor. A childish giggle coming from Lyle, caused Henry to roll his eyes at the drunken man.

“You always were a pathetic drunk, Morgan,” he scolded. “You should be ashamed.”

Lyle hiccupped and waved off Henry’s lecture. Exasperated, Henry jerked Lyle onto his unsteady feet and spun him around towards the bed. He pointed towards Beatrice, who was sleeping soundly underneath an old blanket, her hands cradled around her blossoming stomach.

“A man’s duty is to his family” Henry reminded Lyle. 

The drunk wasn’t paying attention to the conversation, especially as he heard it all before. Henry let go of his collar, and watched a graceless Lyle fall face first onto the floor with a heavy thud. He shook his head, as Lyle groaned into the floorboards. 

“I’ll be back in the morning,” announced Henry, his hands on his hips. “Your horse needs looking after, and I won’t be having Beatrice around Meg, not in her condition.”

Lyle rolled onto his back, his fingers grazing his now bleeding nose. Henry’s knees popped, as he lowered himself into a squat, his grey eyes glowering at Lyle. 

“If I find out you’ve laid your hands on Beatrice again, I’ll drag your sorry arse down to the sheriff myself” he threatened. 

Henry left soon after, with Lyle still lounging on the floor. Lyle eventually rose to his feet and stumbled towards his slumbering wife.  
With cheap whiskey polluting his breath and a frenzied spark in his eyes, Lyle slumped down by his marriage bed. Beatrice’s eyes fluttered open, on sensing the sudden dip on the thin mattress. His cracked lips attached to crook of his wife’s neck, nibbling at the soft skin. A guttural whine escaped his throat. 

“You know I love you, don’t you?” he slurred.

Beatrice shifted slightly, as she felt her husband’s hands grope her swollen breasts. She winced, as Lyle’s rough fingers traced over her sensitive nipples. Exhausted was soon replaced by despair as Beatrice heard the familiar sound of Lyle’s belt being unbuckled. 

“Please be careful, the baby,” pleaded Beatrice, her trembling hands holding her stomach protectively. “Lyle, let me rest. Please.”

Lyle crooned in her ear, as he curled up behind her, pulling up her nightdress. Tears welled in Beatrice’s eyes, as she awaited the assault. The tears flowed freely, as Lyle’s snores echoed around the cabin. 

Another week went by, and Beatrice was still on strict bedrest. She was due to give birth any day now, and Mildred remained vigilantly by her side. Most surprising of all, was how attentive Lyle was being around his heavily pregnant wife. Mildred and Henry believed the behaviour was purely down to guilt, but Beatrice knew Lyle cared deep down. She hoped at least.   
Lyle’s recent confidence boost was welcoming at first, but it was beginning to worry Beatrice. Henry found him the other day trying to wrangle a wild horse, only to get bucked off. Lyle always became too adventurous for his own good when he got into one of his euphoric episodes.  
Beatrice grimaced as she rested her hand on her bump, as she slowly sat up in bed. Mildred smoothed her hair back. 

“Lyle’s working himself into a state,” dismayed Beatrice. “He gets himself overexcited, and I’m afraid he’ll hurt himself again.”

Mildred sighed heavily, as she fluffed the pillow that her cousin was resting against. Beatrice’s face twisted with pain, as she rubbed her stomach to hopefully settle her restless unborn baby.

“Shh. Don’t upset yourself” reassured Mildred. 

The front door abruptly swung open, and Lyle staggered forward clutching a basket of apples close to his chest. 

“Cariad,” beamed Lyle, his cheeks flushed and his smile wide and unnatural. “I got you apples. You like apples.”

Lyle dumped the basket of red apples at the foot of the bed, where he then began to frantically pace back and forth.   
It was a trademark mannerism of Lyle, especially when he was in the middle of one of his strange spells. Mildred inched closer to her cousin, as she slipped a defensive arm around her shoulder. Lyle leaned over the iron bed frame, his fingers twitching with apprehension He stared keenly at his wife’s bulging belly, a joyful grin stretched across his face. Suddenly, Lyle’s attention snapped towards the front door.

“We don’t have money,” he babbled, as he began pacing again. “I need to get us money. I’ll get us money. For the baby. Money for the baby.”

Beatrice turned her head away, her eyes brimming with despair. Mildred eased up from the bed and carefully made her way over to Lyle, as if he was a skittish horse.

“Love, you need to calm yourself,” Mildred tone was calm and collect, as she rested a gentle hand on his arm. “It’s not wise for you to go into town. Not just now. Maybe when you’re not as excitable.”

Lyle scowled, yanking his arm away and throwing his hands up in frustration. Mildred had backed off on seeing the swift change of Lyle’s expression. 

“I’m fine, woman” he snapped.

Despite the squirming pain that was vibrating throughout her body, Beatrice forced herself out of bed, clutching her belly with one hand and with the other tightly grasping onto the bed frame for support. Mildred hurried to her side, as the heavily pregnant woman gasped in discomfort. Lyle watched the older woman soothe his wife, before his eyes fell upon his new leather hat. He stole it from a man he mugged in town several days earlier. It made him feel like an American he claimed when Henry openly ridiculed him.

“Don’t you dare run off again” berated Mildred, as she held a sobbing Beatrice in her strong little arms. “Shame on you. Upsetting her like this when she’s with child.”

Lyle knelt beside Beatrice, where then he cupped the side of her face and pressed a hasty kiss on her lips. He gave her a brief smile, before marching out of the cabin. 

“Money for the baby” repeated the frenzied Welshman. 

That night, whether triggered by stress or fate, Beatrice’s waters broke.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I want to update this story as regular as I can, but I have this issue called night shift. Hopefully, my writing skills aren't too rusty as it's been a while.


	3. Bachgen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Beatrice prepares to give birth, and Lyle faces impending fatherhood.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was slightly challenging to write, as I've never experienced childbirth myself.

Beatrice was braced against the walls of the outhouse when her waters broke. Mildred was waiting outside patiently when she heard her cousin’s desperate cries. 

“Mildred!”

On opening the door to the rickety latrine, Mildred found her cousin doubled over in pain, with fluid trickling down her bare legs. Beatrice clutched her stomach, trying to maintain her breathing. This wasn’t the first time she experienced the sensation of childbirth. 

“Shh, it’s alright, annwyl,” comforted Mildred, as she wrapped an arm around Beatrice’s shoulder as she gently helped her out of the outdoor privy. “Come on, let’s get you inside.”

Ruth Price was focused on mending a pair of socks, her tongue poking out slightly as she slipped the thread through the eye of the needle. The kerosene lamp flicked on the table, giving a warm glow to the small homestead. Her younger sister, Catherine pouted as she tried to mimic her sibling’s masterful skill with the needle and thread. Frustrated, she struggled to keep up with her sister’s prompter pace. 

“I don’t like stitching” she complained.

Why should she mend socks that aren’t even her own? More importantly, why wasn’t she in bed? Catherine winced, as she accidentally stabbed her finger with the sharp needle. Ruth shook her head fondly at her sister. 

“I know it’s late, Cathy, but Ma told us we’re needed here,” reminded Ruth. “Our cousin is expecting remember.”

Suddenly the front door creaked open, interrupting the tranquil atmosphere. Their mother hurried indoors, carefully aiding a distressed Beatrice. Wearing a worried expression, Ruth swiftly placed her mending down and rose to her feet. Beatrice leaned against the iron bed frame, as Mildred rubbed soothing circles on her back.

“Ruth, love, help me with Beatrice,” requested Mildred, addressing her eldest daughter before acknowledging her youngest. “Cathy, go back to the house and get your Da and brother. Tell them what’s happening, and then come straight back. Be as quick as you can.”

As Cathy left to fetch help, Beatrice was overcome by another unbearable contraction. With all the emotion and pain, Beatrice could only weep as she was directed to her bed. Her breathing was becoming heavier, as panic and sorrow overwhelmed her. Tears dribbled down her cheeks, as she was carefully lowered onto the bed.

“I know it hurts, annwyl, but it will be over soon,” consoled Mildred, as she stroked Beatrice’s dark blonde hair back. 

Memories from previous deliveries came flooding back to Beatrice, each one carrying intolerable grief. It was difficult to think and tell of how Thomas and Enid would have reacted to the current situation, as they were so young when they passed. Gareth, however, was delighted at the idea of being an older brother, which was especially touching as he was devastated by little Enid’s passing that previous summer. His sudden death was a reminder to Beatrice of how fragile life was. The twenty-six-year old knew she was lucky to survive those births, yet the idea of losing another child and potentially her own life during labour absolutely terrified her.

“I’m afraid” admitted the tearful young mother.

Mildred did her best to reassure her cousin, muttering words of encouragements in their native tongue, as she deftly removed her soaked drawers. Afterwards, she handed over the soiled undergarments to her daughter. 

“Put those by the laundry and fetch some clean sheets” instructed Mildred, her hands on Beatrice’s huge bloated stomach, trying to feel for the baby. 

On his arrival, Henry was immediately sent into town to search for Lyle, while their son Evan was tasked with guarding the women and incoming new-born. The boy kept vigil and attentively patrolled the porch, with his rifle in his hands.

Lyle was found asleep in the alley between the saloon and the general store, surrounded by broken bottles. Henry grunted in annoyance as he hauled the drunk man onto the back of Samson. The grumpy old stallion tossed his head in irritation at the extra weight, moving into a canter on his owner’s command. Henry then whistled for Meg, who followed obediently. It was a surprise that nobody had stolen the untethered horse. 

Almost another two hours went by, and neither Henry nor Lyle had made an appearance. Mildred inspected her cousin’s progress, running her hands up and down her exposed legs in an act of comfort. Beatrice was propped up against the headboard, her forehead was glimmering with sweat.   
Cathy shuffled and puffed her way over towards the bed, carrying a heavy pail of water from the pump outside. The young girl’s face paled, as she watched her mother and sister tenderly attend the pregnant woman. Cathy was notoriously squeamish and would turn her head away at anything remotely stomach churning. 

“I don’t think I want children” Cathy remarked, her expression one of terror as she watched Beatrice whimper through another spasm.

She shrank back when her mother glared at her, unamused by her comment. Ruth shook her head at her sister and her impulsive tongue, while dipping a cloth into the bucket and carefully wringing it out.

“Where’s my husband?” asked Beatrice, as Ruth pressed the cloth to her brow.

Beatrice sluggishly raised herself into a sitting position, with Ruth rubbing her back to try to each her discomfort. The contractions were getting more frequent and painful. Her thin chemise was beginning to stick to her glistening skin, her chest heaving with each pant causing the short shelves to slip down her shoulders. 

“That’s not important,” replied Mildred, as she caringly held her cousin’s face in her hands. “This little one isn’t waiting for him, so neither should we. I know you’re scared, annwyl, but you have to do this.”

Two fat tears slipped from Beatrice’s bright eyes, only to be caught by the smooth pads of Mildred’s thumbs. Mildred pecked her cousin on the forehead, just as another contraction overwhelmed the younger woman. As Beatrice wailed, Ruth eased her back down onto the bed. Mildred checked between Beatrice’s legs, using one of her hands to gingerly press against her bump, as if to hurry the baby down the birth canal.

“It’s time,” exhaled Mildred, as she rolled her sleeves up. “On my count, Beatrice, I want you to start pushing.”

Ruth and Cathy assisted Beatrice into a more comfortable upright position, as Mildred prepared the fresh sheets around her.

One

Beatrice exchanged a quick glance between her younger cousins by her side, her long hair now hanging loose and clinging to her drenched skin. Ruth gave her bare shoulder a supportive squeeze and a compassionate smile, all the while Cathy looked giddy. Beatrice placed a trembling hand to her belly.

Two

Beatrice regained her focus, as she brought her heavy panting to a steady rhythm. Mildred smoothed her hair back and kissed her forehead.

Three

Samson and Meg galloped furiously through the prairie, hooves pounding against the rough gravel and grass. The horses whinnied and snorted, as Henry encouraged the mounts forward. Lyle’s stomach lurched as he bounced on the saddle, his eyes cloudy from alcohol. Henry gritted his teeth as he pressed his heels into Samson’s flanks.

Beatrice’s cries practically bounced off the cabin walls, as she pushed until she was flushed and drenched in sweat. 

“Good girl,” encouraged Mildred, from between Beatrice’s legs. “Push!”

Beatrice threw her head back onto the pillow, her back arching as she shrieked in agony. Ruth pressed a damp cloth on her forehead. Cathy was shielding her eyes.

“I can see the head” announced Mildred, almost laughing with relief. 

Henry concentrated on the homestead on the horizon. Beatrice’s dreadful screams soon became audible, almost snapping Lyle out of his inebriated stupor. Evan called out towards his father and Lyle, his rifle on his shoulder as he jogged down to meet them. 

“Push!” 

Beatrice gasped, as she finally delivered her baby with one final push. Ruth and Mildred were both beaming with joy, as the wailing infant was revealed. It was a boy. All wrinkly and covered in birthing fluids and blood. Cathy took one look and fainted. 

Lyle was pacing outside on the porch when he heard a sound that made his stomach drop. A baby’s first cries. Lyle felt a lump in his throat. Unable to cope, Lyle stumbled backwards. Henry yanked him back by the collar, taking away any opportunity of escape. 

“Face your responsibilities, Morgan,” reprimanded Henry. “Be a man.”

Henry knocked on the door, still holding onto Lyle by the scruff of the neck. It was Ruth who answered the door. An exhausted Beatrice looked over from her bed, cradling her infant son in her arms. She gave her husband a small weary smile, as Lyle wandered over. 

“We have a son” she declared, her eyes shining.

The little baby boy wriggled and snuffled from the warm folds of the blanket, his mother cooing at him in Welsh. Beatrice’s heart fluttered, as Lyle leaned over and kissed her deeply on the lips, his hand curling around the nape of her neck. Mildred cleared her throat in disapproval, as she could smell the stench of liquor. Lyle’s eyes then fell upon his son for the first time. 

Lyle remained silent as he observed his boy. How could he be a father when he had no father himself. He had already failed at any attempt at fatherhood before, and he blamed their premature deaths on himself. Why would this be any different? Would he lose another son to sickness? Or just maybe he wasn’t the father of this little boy? What if Beatrice gave her body to another man in his absence? Doubts muddled his already troubled mind.

He stepped forward and kissed his wife on the forehead, rejecting his son when he was offered to him. Beatrice was left heartbroken, as she watched her husband leave, sobbing along with her baby boy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for the kudos and comments on the story so far.


	4. Arthur

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After giving birth, Beatrice decides on a name for her new-born son.

Beatrice’s heart was aching, and not just from the rejection from her troubled husband, but from the overwhelming pride and sorrow for her new-born baby boy. The tiny infant was so vulnerable, and an all too familiar feeling of anxiety seeped into Beatrice’s mind. The memories of her dead children came flooding back. Each moment was precious, as Beatrice had so cruelly discovered. Tears spilled down her cheeks, as she cradled her son. Mildred leaned over and kissed her forehead, as she smoothed her younger cousin’s damp hair.

“Shh, it’s alright. Don’t waste tears on your husband” she comforted, as she wiped away Beatrice’s tears, offering her a kind smile.

Beatrice sniffled, as she gazed down at her baby. The little boy wriggled within the folds of the warm blanket that cocooned him, his precious face wrinkled with discomfort as his cries resonated off the walls of the cabin. Beatrice planted gentle kisses on her new-born’s greasy face, consoling him with the soft words of her mother tongue.

“Give him to Ruth, we’ve still got the afterbirth to deliver” said Mildred.

As Mildred aided Beatrice in releasing the placenta, Ruth carefully washed the baby of the birthing fluids that coated his squirming pink body.

“A fine pair of lungs your boy has,” commented Mildred, as she wrapped up the placenta in the soiled sheets. “Shrieking like a bear cub.”

Wrapping the baby in the blanket once more, Ruth returned to Beatrice’s bedside. Fifteen-year-old Evan stood in the doorway with his father. Cathy began to help her mother in clearing the blood and sweat from Beatrice’s body, as Ruth rocked the restless baby in her arms. Mildred drifted her gaze to the males in the room, before signalling with her dark eyes towards the bloody bundle at the foot of the bed.

“Make sure you bury it a good distance,” she said. “Don’t want it bringing animals to the door.”

As the men left, Beatrice held her arms out to Ruth, who promptly handed the wailing baby back over to his mother.

“My ears hurt,” complained Cathy, as she winced as the new-born cried. “Such fussing for something so small.”

Beatrice unravelled the blanket, as she then brought her infant towards her now bare chest. With gentle encouragement, the baby began to nurse from her breast, which thankfully stopped his bawling. Mildred and her daughters make themselves busy around the cabin, granting mother and baby some time together.

By the following afternoon, Beatrice was still confined to bed. She caressed her baby boy’s cheeks with her fingers, as he slept peacefully in her arms.

“I’ve decided on a what to call him” announced Beatrice, as she glanced over at Mildred, who was preparing soup on the stove in the corner of the cabin. “I want to name him after my brother.”

Mildred smiled, as she wiped her hands on her apron.

“He would be proud to share his name, God rest his soul,” the older woman remarked. “He read the letters I would send you all didn’t he?”

Beatrice nodded, her thoughts and memories of her older brother resurfaced in her mind, both pleasant and solemn.

“Ma and Da only had money to send one of us to school,” she said pensively. “When those letters arrived, you would’ve thought Queen Victoria herself sent them. Before he got sick, he was planning on coming out to America himself. All the money he saved; he gave it all to me. Told me to take his place, to make a new life with Lyle in America.”

Mildred sighed heavily, as she returned her attention to the bubbling soup. Beatrice gazed down at her baby, a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth to discovering her son was staring up at her with curious eyes.

“Hello Arthur” she whispered.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for delay. Last few months have been difficult due to personal reasons. I hope to return to writing, as it lets me express myself creatively.


End file.
